


A Gentleman’s Precious Rose

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: A Husband’s Love [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Edging, F/M, Jealousy, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reader-Insert, Vibrators, husband/wife, incubus!Arsène, jealous!incubus!Arsène
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: You wanted to see how strongly Arsène felt.You wanted to see how he would be when he felt the timeless tingles of jealousy.You would have been satisfied with whatever reaction he gave you. Anything at all.You got what you wanted and perhaps…More than you bargained for.





	A Gentleman’s Precious Rose

**Author's Note:**

> _To Kai:_
> 
> I said I would have _something_ for your birthday, and dammit, I did my best.
> 
> It’s a bit late, later than I intended, but…
> 
> Better late than never, no?
> 
> Happy (late) birthday! Cheers, friend! Enjoy your serving of Arsène sin!

  * Unlike many, many hellions, Arsène is not the type of demon who gets jealous easily.
  * He loves you and places a great amount of trust in you; he knows you wouldn’t betray him in any way, shape, or form.
  * It is certainly interesting to see how noticeably jealous _you_ get when you and he are out on the town. He finds your reactions cute, no matter how many times he witnesses it.
  * He finds it cute when you set your jaw, when you narrow your eyes and shoot the attractive cashier at the grocery store a look so frosty, it threatens to freeze the entire store in a deep chill.
  * He finds it cute when you two walk pass a small group of giggling, doe-eyed college students, hand in hand. He will stare down at you, holding back a smirk as he silently notes of the tension possessing you. He will hold back a chuckle seeing how your hand tightens its grip on his, squeezing it with a surprising degree of strength.
  * He finds it cute when you breathe a huff, giving a well-dressed housewife a stink-eyed glare that made him wonder if something distasteful had reached your nostrils. He knows better than to ask you such a question, of course; he knows what you will tell him, word for word.
  * However…
  * It is when he _does_ feel it that you—as his dearly devoted wife—need to be worried.
  * As cute as you look to him when you’re jealous, it is one thing to _intentionally_ rile him up, and with a gentleman that isn’t himself.
  * For a moment, he wonders if this was your intention all along. He wonders if you finally got sick and tired of seeing other women drooling over him, no matter where you went or how many excuses you pulled out of thin air to leave.
  * But that is all beside the point.
  * Arsène will keep up a chilling calm, looking on as a stranger—a handsome stranger, but a stranger nonetheless—happens to strike up a conversation with you. Silently, it infuriates him to realize that instead of deterring or shooing the man away, you indulge him.
  * You smile the smile you give to him and _only_ to him. The giggle that only _he_ gets to hear reaches his ears. Worse, the other man who you are clearly _not_ married to smirks at him!
  * It takes everything he has not to approach you and gently lead you away right then and there.
  * But for the time being…
  * He is willing to hold back his displeasure until you both have returned home.
  * A gentleman values his time with his wife in privacy and behind closed doors, after all.



* * *

The hard surface of the headboard dug into your back, protected only by the thin cotton shirt, but there was no way to shield yourself from your husband’s short and intense kisses, lip-locks that were literally _breathtaking_.

“Did you mean to make me jealous, my dear rose?”

Warm air wafted across your cheeks as a soft chuckle was breathed into your face.

“ _Yes.”_

You wanted to say that one word, that one little word that would confirm your husband’s suspicions.

You _had_ intended to make him jealous.

You wanted to _see_ Arsène look jealous, act jealous—if only for a few precious seconds that made you feel appreciated. You wanted to _know_ that he felt so strongly about you.

You just wanted to see _him_ jealous for a change.

Especially since he always, _always_ chuckled whenever you betrayed the tiniest hint of the green-eyed monster, watching as passion’s cruel counterpart trickled throughout your system.

You didn’t think you were someone who became jealous so easily.

You certainly didn’t think you were _obsessively jealous_ ; you felt the tickles of envy whenever other, far more beautiful women looked at your husband, yes.

You were a normal human being, not a raving lunatic looking to stab _or_ kill someone purely out of a frenzied rage spurned on the fire of envy.

Arsène would laugh as he watched as you shifted closer to him, narrowing your eyes at any woman who happened to give him flirtatious looks, giggled or waved at him, or batted their eyelashes, amused at your childish antics.

Your husband would lazily drawl, “My, my. Are you jealous, my love?” into your ear, smiling devilishly as you part stared, part glared at him out the corner of your eye as you raised your chin so that you stared up at him.

“No. I’m _not_ jealous, Arsène.”

Despite your claims, a huff would escape you as your brows pinched the slant of your eyes, staring daggers at the women who continued to giggle at your husband, yet who watched you with seemingly evil, crow-like smiles as you wrapped an arm around your spouse’s clothed arm.

It was almost cute how you acted, how you looked.

In Arsène’s eyes, you reminded him of a child who wouldn’t share his or her favourite toy with the other, more rambunctious children.

However… In the here and now…

Your mouth popped open, a response at the ready—only to be silenced by a pair of lips laying their rightful claim to yours.

“So… You wanted my attention _this_ badly, did you, my love?”  
  
A warm puff of air wafted over your cheeks as Arsène breathed a laugh into your face, the whisper of his words ghosting over your blushing bride cheeks. Your glistening doe eyes stared up at him, and your mouth hung open to release deep, shaky breaths, pants, and the occasional gasp that ended in his name.

A gloved palm kept your wrists pinned above your head, and leather-covered fingers interlocked with yours as a second hot exhale hit your face as once again, a laugh hit you, cooling your face that _burned_ with embarrassment.

“Hmm,” he crooned, his lazy drawl oozing with amusement.

He sounded like a purring cat that had just caught a canary in its mouth, tooth-filled smile and all.

“Well… I must say that you got more than you bargained for, didn’t you?”

Arsène’s second hand was between your legs, spread wide and baring not only your leaking sex to him, but what it was that he gripped in his fingers. The object that was slowly, _oh so slowly_ , being inserted into the warm and moist spot between your spread legs. For a few moments, your eyes fell to the juncture between your legs, eyeballing the item as it slipped inside all too easily. You watched as the long object—the vibrator—was accepted by your aching core, twitching and ready to be filled with _anything_.

“It slid in so easily… You seem to be very _eager_ for it today… Why is that?”

“I-I’m not eager for it— _ah!_ ”

A sudden, unexpected push—a gentle push—cut your meek protest off, causing you to hitch in a quivering breath. You inhaled through your mouth, sucking in a slow, careful breath as the sensation of being filled made itself known to you. Your legs trembled and your hips shook, taking in air deeply, but your exhales were shaky as your shining doe eyes looked up into a pair of reddish orange irises.

In the darkness your husband sat in, an abysmal colour that was broken only by the dim moonlight that shone in through the window adjacent to your bed, the moon’s cold glare only served to amplify the alluring hue that flooded Arsène’s gaze.

Earlier, you had watched as the startling shade possessed his eyes. You watched as your husband’s obsidian irises were lost to a tinge of reddish orange; the two-coloured tone differed in tinctures of light and shadow. The play of light—from the faint moonlight—and shadow that danced across his face was the most pure, the most theatrical display you had ever seen.

“You were saying, ma chère?”

Hot moisture pricked the corner of your gaze, taking in an inhale; the breath left you in a shivering exhale. You wanted to speak—no, you _tried_ to speak—but a barely-there buzz shook your warm, aching walls. The sensation caused you to look at Arsène, wide-eyed, breathing another little gasp. Your high-strung expression, your sweating visage was completely in contrast to his amused leer, the entertained glint in his gaze that was so reminiscent of hellfire itself.

Your mouth hung agape, curving to a perfect o as beads dripped down your forehead, shining with perspiration. Arsène’s leather-covered fingers remained interlocked with your bare digits, his gloved palm still kept both of your hands where they were: above your head, pinned to the fluffy pillow you laid on.

You couldn’t look away from Arsène’s eyes. You just… couldn’t.

Suddenly, you recalled the first time he had visited you in a situation much like the one you found yourself in at the moment.

However…

Unlike the current moment in time, you had been dreaming.

You remembered how he held you in his arms, cooing sweet nothings into your ears, switching from English to French as it pleased him.

_“I’m dreaming.”_

You recalled how you had whispered those two simple words, and all you had earned was a small sound; the noise was between a hum and a low, drawling purr.

_“Then it is a good dream, my lady.”_

You remembered how the noiret visitor delighted in seeing every shudder, every tremble that possessed you, snickering as he purred into your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck.

_“A marvellous sight for this gentleman.”_

That was what he murmured into the warm, shivering skin of your throat, applying a light suction.

You recalled how much it satisfied him, slowly and carefully prying every gasp, every pleased mewl from your lips before they were claimed by him.

You remembered when you looked into his eyes, watching as the irises were slowly swallowed by a hue of reddish orange.

You remembered breathing a soft gasp, but it was a noise Arsène had no trouble hearing.

Truthfully, you thought that they were captivating; you still believed it to be a intriguing, alluring thing. The moment when Arsène’s eyes were swallowed with a hue that reminded you of burning hellfire.

_“How beautiful.”_

In the here and now, you allowed those exact words to leave your lips, staring pointedly at your husband as they rolled off of your tongue.

Firebrand irises stared at you, dark doe eyes, blushing bride cheeks, mouth open to release gasps, pants, and lovely little whispers that ended in his name.

To hear you, to see you in the state you were in as you continued to whisper nothing but his name, reiterating it over and over it again like it was a passage of some holy scripture.

“Arsène, Arsène, Arsène…”

To your husband, Arsène Lupin, he had never witnessed a sight more captivating than that.

To witness his beloved say his name, and only his name…

To hear you praise him like he was your personal god…

There was no sight more beautiful than you right now.

You opened your eyes, having closed them when the vibrator touched the very tip of you—and you couldn’t will back the soft gasp that was pulled from your throat when you looked at your husband’s face, your stare locking with his.

The reddish orange hue that dominated Arsène’s gaze somehow seemed more prominent, glowing in the patch of darkness he sat in.

Your husband’s eyes shone like fire, shimmering like tiny flames in a dark room.

Darkness became his acquaintance as he blinked slowly, and when he opened them, you swore that his irises were more luminous than they had been mere moments ago.

You opened your mouth, a question at the ready, but a sudden and unexpected friction touching your wet, twitching core stole the ability of speech.

Words formed at the back of your throat, but they never rolled off of your tongue or left your trembling lips.

The ability of speech had been effectively robbed, stolen by your husband, aided by the toy he held in his gloved fingers and leather-covered palm.

You felt perspiration forming on your forehead, sweat trickling down your cheeks, down your high-strung visage as you breathed a quiet gasp.

A chuckle warmed your blushing, doe-eyed expression, mouth still curved to a perfect _o_ as you silently gaped, watching you as your breathing grew hard and heavy.

Your chest rose and fell as you took in air, deeply and greedily, as though you had just broken the water’s surface on the deep end of an indoor pool.

You felt heat rising from your neck to shamelessly burn your cheeks, your glazed and lustful gaze meeting the watchful and hellion stare of your spouse.

Swallowing thickly, you hitched in a breath as a familiar sensation hit you—more specifically, a buzzing sensation hit you, and with it, came a fresh coating of liquid that coated the vibrator that shook your inner walls.

“Now… Shall we see how lovely you will look underneath me, clenching around this little toy as you come undone, my dear rose?”


End file.
